lightning wave
by Adreus
Summary: what-could-be fic — So here he is, and Haruto's gone.


edited 25 november 2012; if you're confused, this submission _used _to be a kaito flashfic collection, but now it's just this fic—the rest of the collection has been moved to _thieves of joy_.

**Notes: **What-could-be fic, written before the second season finished, so...!

* * *

><p><em>lightning wave<em>

* * *

><p>He's tired and quiet and Droite's done something dumb to his body, he knows she has, even though she says it's because he's exhausted his powers. It's the first time he's slept on a bed in ages, and his back can't decide if it wants to burst into flames or play itself like a shivering xylophone; the infirmary he's in now is something meant to cure him, but all it really does is remind him of Haruto and how he was in some uncomfortable white hell hole last time Kaito'd been allowed information, and how sick is that, his own flesh and blood, and Kaito needs <em>permission <em>to know how his brother is doing?

They put him on some sort of psychedelic drug, and it makes him see things, see butterflies in the middle of the night (he wants to chase them but he can't move), see ghosts in the middle of the day (he wants to escape them but he can't move), see the aching whisks of memories flying behind his eyes (he wants to hold them, but he can't move). Droite tries to explain to him what caused the paralyzation; something about his spine and nerves and a duel, but he doesn't have to worry, he'll make a full recovery, but Kaito doesn't really listen to anything she says. He never has. She's the only visitor he gets, and even she shows up less often as the days stretch on and he's still incapable of getting up—or maybe he just doesn't want to.

He feels useless, pathetic, like a waste of a life; he's given everything he has and still he can't fulfill his only purpose, and look at him now. He starts to let the numbness take over him, tries to become emotionless or otherwise assert that it's okay, that Haruto is fine and he himself doesn't matter, but sometimes he still wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, panicked because he couldn't stop Tron or Astral or sometimes even himself. The textured ceiling is something with which he gets awfully acquainted.

His sleep schedule gets pretty messed up, so imbalanced and out of it that it becomes difficult to tell reality from fiction, but there are familiarities and constants that are easy to identify: Shark, scowling at him; V's face, informative through its sangfroid; Droite, giving him advice and trying to teach him to walk again; and Yuma. Yuma, who's somehow everywhere, on the walls and on the ceiling and especially under his skin.

The news comes one day while he's moving his legs around, wobbly on the shaky floor, and Yuma's there staring at his own feet, uncharacteristically silent. He leaves earlier than usual and Kaito doesn't say anything (he hasn't been saying much), and then in comes Dr. Faker, and that's when Kaito knows something's wrong; when he asks, "What the hell are you doing here," his voice is croaky and strange and he wonders if he sounds different or if it's just been too long since he's heard his own voice.

When he finds out he'll never see Haruto again, Kaito seems to find his balance on his feet; he nods a bit, like he's known this for the past month, and he walks past Dr. Faker and his entourage and doesn't look back. Out in the hall he manages to recover his deck, something he hasn't even thought of for who knows how long, and he's about to check himself out when he spots Yuma behind him, approaching slowly and looking guilty and sad and that just makes Kaito want to be angry. He watches and waits as Yuma gets closer, but he doesn't stop at the respectable difference. "Hey, what are you—"

Before Kaito's done he's pulled into a hug from behind, and it's weird and his body's screaming in alarm from strange, foreign contact.

"I'm sorry," Yuma tries, and his voice is sad and small and quiet, tinged with regret and several shades of sorrow. "I tried to—but by the time I won, he'd already…"

Kaito closes his eyes and lets himself be embraced, imagines that the light weight could be lighter, that the soft voice could be softer. That little brothers could magically manifest themselves in little brothers, and say good-bye to the people they've left behind.


End file.
